


Welcome to Hell

by ziracrow (duskomybloom)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angels, Belial - Freeform, Crowley (Good Omens) Is Not Crowley (Supernatural), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demons, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angels, Gabriel Being an Asshole (Good Omens), Heaven, Heaven & Hell, Hell, Leviathan - Freeform, M/M, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, i just really wanted to integrate some demon lore so imma do it yall, ill add more tags as I go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 09:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19788364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duskomybloom/pseuds/ziracrow
Summary: “I’m very relieved not to have Fallen.”It wasn’t about Aziraphale believing his side was best, the demon had begun to understand after all these years. It was about what would happen to the angel if he went against Heaven’s orders.Crowley, who had gone against Heaven’s orders and been cast out six thousand years ago, knew exactly what would happen. And he didn’t want it for Aziraphale. The fact that the angel had gone against his superiors deliberately and not had any repercussions was… well, a miracle, really.*What if Crowley and Aziraphale never got a chance to switch faces? What if they were taken to Heaven and Hell as themselves? What if Heaven and Hell decided a different punishment was more suitable than execution?Mostly I just wanted to have some fun with what Hell might be like so this fic was born





	Welcome to Hell

“I’m very relieved not to have Fallen.”

The words landed softly in the night air, hanging between two beings who didn’t offer anything to accompany them. Both took unnecessary breaths while they drank in the steady quiet of the night, the subtle crickets and far-off traffic simply adding to the atmosphere. Alcohol and unspoken sentiments lingered on their tongues. It was familiar. Considering everything that had happened in the last few days, they were inexperienced travelers in uncharted territory.

The beings were an angel and a demon who sat next to each other on a bench just after the end of the world. Or, rather, what had nearly been the end of the world, if it weren’t for some mucked up plans and some incredibly brilliant people.

Crowley would have liked to think he played a considerable part in saving the Earth from destruction, but Aziraphale had a point: if they’d been at all competent… he didn’t even want to think of the possible outcomes.

And now, after six thousand years of sneaking about, playing a game of wits with Heaven and Hell and seeming to botch every ineffable plan they could get their hands on—here they sat. Here, together, passing a bottle of wine back in forth between them for the last few minutes, just how it should be.

Crowley contemplated Aziraphale’s statement with a slight frown. He didn’t have an answer for the angel, or anything worthwhile to say back. He didn’t really want to even entertain the thought.

Aziraphale’s greatest fear all these years, right up until the final hours of the Armageddon’t, was Falling—it was the reason he’d never (until recently) followed Crowley into more than a quick temptation, why he refused to run away with Crowley off to Alpha Centuri, why he suggested Crowley kill the antichrist so there wasn’t “blood oh Heaven’s hands”, why the plan to influence Warlock had to be spun in a light that could benefit Heaven if he reported it.

It wasn’t about Aziraphale believing his side was best, the demon had begun to understand after all these years. It was about what would happen to the angel if he went against Heaven’s orders.

Crowley, who _had_ gone against Heaven’s orders and been cast out six thousand years ago, knew exactly what would happen. And he didn’t want it for Aziraphale. The fact that the angel had gone against his superiors deliberately and not had any repercussions was… well, a miracle, really.

“Oh! There it is.”

Aziraphale nodded past Crowley to the street beyond, and Crowley roused himself from his internal musings, realizing too late that he’d been staring at the angel’s face for a bit longer than strictly necessary. He'd been mesmerized by the prospect of getting to stare at that soft face without worry of who was watching, seeing those wispy blond curls and knowing his angel was here, alive, in front of him. A bus was trundling its way toward them, still a while away yet, breaking the perfectly still moment.

“It says ‘Oxford’ on the front,” the angel pointed out.

Crowley took a swig from the wine bottle, trying to regain his bearings. Too many things had happened in the last twenty four hours (or in the last week, if he was being honest), and the craving for a good stiff drink was definitely in the forefront of readily available distractions.

“Yeah. But he’ll drive to London anyway. He just won’t know why,” Crowley said matter-of-factly. Of course he had thought of a way to get them home privately; the angel should have known that.

“I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop.”

Crowley turned his full attention to Aziraphale, who was focused on the approaching bus with an unidentifiable expression, no sign of recognition on his face even after the demon let a beat slip between his response.

Was Aziraphale in denial? Did he not understand what Crowley had told him in the bar? There was nowhere for the angel to go; Crowley had rather thought that they could avoid addressing it and just see where the night led.

Crowley wasn’t sure if he had what it took to break it to him. Not again. But he had to anyway.

“It burned down,” he told the angel, as gently as he could. “R’member?”

Aziraphale’s stare met his for a fleeting second before he blinked and looked around him, as though trying to come to grips with this new world he’d been placed in. It broke Crowley’s heart, and he offered the only thing he could think to say, the only other option there was.

“You can stay at my place, if you like.”

The angel’s eyes went wide at that, and he considered the demon for longer this time, a thousand emotions flickering across his features as the suggestion sunk in. Crowley watched them all happen silently.

“…I don’t think my side would like that.”

Crowley closed his eyes for a good second, not that the angel could see it. Oh, Aziraphale. Always so worried about sides, always so aware of what it looked like to everyone else. Hadn’t the apocalypse taught him anything? But, of course, Aziraphale had suffered and was still suffering in new revelations about sides and good and evil and right and wrong, and Crowley wasn’t one to force him to accept it. The angel had to be scared; the first time he had ever directly disobeyed Heaven was only a few hours ago.

Instead, he simply reiterated as he had several times now, “You don’t have a side anymore.” He sighed, knowing Aziraphale wasn’t the only one having a hard time. Deep down, he himself was struggling with the order of things, too. “Neither of us do. We’re on our own side.”

The bus grew nearer, and Aziraphale kept silent, contemplating the asphalt. “Like Agnes said,” Crowley reminded him, putting his hand up to hail the bus in a familiar gesture despite knowing the driver would stop anyway. “We’re going to have to choose our faces wisely.”

Just as Aziraphale was making to standing up, Crowley caught sight of two figures on the other side of the street, one dressed in all white, striding toward them, and one tall and robed, a shadow as black as the night around it, stalking behind in warning.

Perhaps it was a trick of the streetlights, but the darker figure definitely looked like Death. The bus pulled in front of the vision before he could get a better look.

That… couldn’t be good, could it?

“Say, angel—” he glanced back to Aziraphale’s place on the bench, only to find it empty.

The bus gave a great _hisssss_ and Crowley shot up, alarmed, as the doors closed, Aziraphale inside them. The angel’s hands went to the windows, trying to push them back open, just as confused.

Crowley glanced to the front of the bus.

No driver.

“Angel!” he shouted, lurching forward, but it was no use. The white figure, who Crowley now recognized as another angel, appeared inside and rose eerily from behind Aziraphale, grabbing his arms and forcing them behind his back as he cried out. The other angel’s icy eyes seemed to threaten Crowley, to challenge him. _Come after him, if you dare_.

The bus was already whirring and clicking, beginning to rise up in the air with a ghostly blue hue instead of forward on the road. Crowley could see Aziraphale mouth his name and struggle against the other angel, but he couldn’t hear any sound.

“ANGEL! NO!”

The demon had just enough time to see the bus shoot upward into the sky like a rocket before something strong and solid collided with his spine with a _crunch_ , knocking him flat to the ground. He raised his head to look behind him with a painful effort, already knowing his body was going to fall unconscious, if it wasn’t going to be discorporated from the blow.

Hastur stood behind him, crowbar raised and ready to strike a second time if need be. “Bad luck, dear,” he sneered, and Crowley felt an overwhelming sense of dread as his face hit the road once more, his eyes closing against his will. 

*

Aziraphale wrenched one hand free and slammed it against the door of the bus, trying in any way possible to warn Crowley of the man behind him poising to attack, but the demon didn’t hear him. Instead, he watched Crowley’s body pitch forward and the resounding _crack_ of the crowbar rang out loud and clear over the noise of the engine, even as the bus began rising away from the road.

The nameless angel wrangled Aziraphale’s hands together again, keeping him in a strong hold and binding them quickly with holy rope as he struggled. “Oh, sorry about your boyfriend,” they whispered, snickering. “Such a shame. I’m sure Hell _won’t_ have mercy on his soul.”

Aziraphale took a breath in to retort back, something along the lines of “get your hands off me” at the ready, only for the other angel to fasten a thick cloth across his mouth, cutting him off quite effectively.

“Hush, now,” they chided. Aziraphale could see their sinister smile reflected in the window, London growing smaller beneath them as they ascended to Heaven. “Let’s see what the Archangels have to say about the whole thing, hmm?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm spectacularly bad at updating but I've got the next part written out already so it'll be up soon probably! And then we can Descend together. If you want to come talk to me and follow me I have a [tumblr](https://ziracrow.tumblr.com/)


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